


A Week in Paradise

by BadGirlCC



Series: Weeks with Poirot [3]
Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie, Poirot - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Diary/Journal, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25526662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadGirlCC/pseuds/BadGirlCC
Summary: Poirot has been advised to visit the sea for his health so he's taking his temporary secretary with him. This should be a breeze, right?
Relationships: Hercule Poirot/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Weeks with Poirot [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843921
Comments: 18
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

~FRIDAY~

After it was declared safe to travel again, Poirot’s doctor suggested he visit the seaside for his health. Miss Lemon was still looking after her sister while she was in recovery so I was still working as Monsieur’s secretary. 

He jumped at the chance to get out of London and told me to book a suite for him at The Midland Hotel in Morecambe. It was a glamorous and fashionable hotel overlooking the bay. They were rumored to have an excellent restaurant and comfortable accommodations so it was unsurprising that Poirot would choose it.

My mind immediately went to how incredible spending a week at the sea with Monsieur would be, but I couldn’t presume. Not to mention the fact that even if I did go with him, I would still be working. It was important to both of us that we not appear to be involved with anything untoward. I was just a secretary and he was only my employer.

In the time since he had recovered and I had behaved so foolishly, things hadn’t changed between us much. I still longed for him at every turn, and he still pretended that nothing had ever happened. We behaved as perfect professionals and I sometimes felt that it would have been better to have said nothing at all. 

Sometimes I wondered if I should leave Poirot’s employ and never return, but that seemed even worse than being able to see him every day. I had been enchanted by him almost from the very first moment I’d met him, and leaving to never see those flashing eyes or perfectly trimmed mustaches again wouldn’t solve the problem.

“Will you be requiring my services on this trip, Monsieur?”

I tried not to sound hopeful, just blandly inquiring.

“D’accord! You are still my secretary, non? You will have a suite as well.”

I opened my mouth to protest but he stopped me.

“Non, non, non! I will not hear the protests! You must be near your employer to continue to do your work. Your expenses will be provided for while you are working for Poirot, and that is that.”

“Monsieur, you are too generous.”

I started to say more, but he interrupted me again and held up a finger.

“I will not hear the protests, Mademoiselle.”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

I went to make the reservations and inquire about train tickets without further complaint.

~MONDAY~

We met bright and early Monday morning at Euston Station. I picked up our train tickets at the window and directed a porter to take our bags to our train. Poirot had packed 3 large cases for our week at the seaside hotel while I had packed only one large one and one hatbox.

I had never ridden in first class before, but Poirot wouldn’t have traveled in any other way. I wasn’t awed by what I saw, but I definitely enjoyed the differences between First Class and the cheaper seats. Even the tea was better.

Three and a half hours later, we were pulling up in front of The Midland. It looked like a glittering sandcastle in the morning sun. A mermaid as gleaming as the building’s facade greeted us as we pulled into the drive, and twin seahorses looked down at us from the front of the building as we disembarked.

I was in awe of how beautiful and gleaming every surface seemed to be inside of the hotel, but Poirot looked as if he walked into gleaming mermaid palaces every day. He smiled and signed the register as I gawked like a fool who’s never been permitted to leave home before.

The clerk handed the bellhop our keys and instructed the porters to take up our bags. We had beautiful rooms overlooking the sea. The terrace doors were open already when we came in and the sea breeze billowed in softly through the sheer curtains. I almost felt like I’d walked into a dream. 

The bellhop gave monsieur his key and was in the middle of telling him about the amenities of his room when he pointed out that our rooms were joined by a door in the middle with a bit of a cheeky look in his eye.

I blushed, struggling to come up with what to say to explain that he was my employer and there was nothing like that between us, but Poirot came to my rescue.

“Merci. I am aware of your hotel’s amenities most fine. Please show my secretary to her room.”

He made it clear with one short, but polite, exchange that he would brook no attacks on my honor. The bellhop got the picture and quickly showed me to my room without opening the adjoining door. He gave me my key, and I gave him a tip despite him having implied something nasty about me. 

Once we were settled into our rooms, we had lunch together on Poirot’s terrace. The day was clear and warm and the sea air wrapped around me like a soft blanket. I brought my pencil and pad of paper in case he wanted to make an itinerary or if there were things he needed me to look into while we were in Morecambe.

“Mademoiselle please to sit. I hope that you do not mind that I have ordered for us already.”

“Of course not Monsieur. I trust you implicitly.”

I still blushed when I said anything that approached my true feelings for him. We were still dancing around what had happened during our quarantine together, so it still felt taboo and bold.

I, of course, had been right to trust him. Poirot had impeccable taste in everything, but definitely in food. He must have remembered how much I dislike fish because there was hardly any seafood at all on the table. There were some scallops, but those are actually very good despite being seafood. 

He looked so handsome and relaxed in his cream-colored suit and straw hat, soaking in the sun as we ate a leisurely meal of foods I’d never have been able to order if I were on my own. Poirot was generous and kind to a fault. He’d already spent more on me in the last two days than he would have normally paid me for 3 weeks of work, and he was still paying me. It felt like much too much.

A twinge of guilt passed through me, and it must have crossed my face because Poirot immediately went from remarking pleasantly how the reputation of the kitchen had been deserved to a look of worry.

“Mademoiselle? I hope that you are not feeling ill.”

I tried to quickly come up with an excuse for why my demeanor had changed. I tried to smile.

“Non, Monsieur. I’m fine. I thought that I had forgotten something at home, but it’s fine. I remembered packing it.”

I lied lamely, and he smiled mischievously as he saw straight through my horrible lie. 

“Bon! Let us have our lemon cake then, and afterward, we will decide how I will spend my week.”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

I smiled sheepishly. It was hard to feel bad about anything for long in his presence. Poirot had a way of lifting my spirits. Most people who encountered him talked about him as if he were an old persnickety grouch. Maybe he did want things to be a certain way, and maybe he wasn’t afraid to ask for them, but he was also sweet and funny. He was polite to everyone, even if they didn’t deserve it, and committed to doing the right thing. So what if he was also dedicated to symmetry and spotless silver? 

I wanted… I don’t know what I wanted. I hoped and wished for so many things that I couldn’t have told you what I wanted most. Mostly I wanted to hold his hand in mine as we sat on that sparkling white terrace in that mermaid castle. But I couldn’t. I was there to work, and work I would.

Poirot decided that he would like to spend a fair bit of his days in a chair on the beach. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner would be at the hotel of course. I agreed to check with the concierge and find out about any tours he might like or points of interest he could see. Friday night was the hotel’s famous weekly dinner dance. Poirot didn’t dance much, but he did enjoy music, and he did seem to enjoy a bit of people watching. 

I hoped he would ask me to dance again, though every time he did, it seemed to lead to trouble.

After lunch, I went down to the concierge to make arrangements for Poirot’s week. There weren’t many cultural attractions, but there was an art gallery nearby as well as a theatre. I asked the concierge to obtain tickets to the theatre on Wednesday night and picked up as many brochures as I could to allow Poirot to choose some things he’d like to do.

Now that the week was mostly planned, I left the brochures with Poirot and excused myself to take a walk along the beach. The day was clear and bright, and the beach was sparsely spotted with people taking in the sun and the water. 

Something about the setting was stirring up all of the romantic feelings I’d ever had and I was glad, for the first time ever, to be away from Poirot. I felt so wistful and heavy. I was sure I’d be staring at him longingly at every moment I was near him and it felt like exquisite torture to be in the room with him. When the sea breeze caressed my face I couldn’t help but think of his hand there instead.

This was going to be a long week.

~TUESDAY~

We breakfasted alone in our own rooms, which was fine by me. It gave me some time to prepare myself for the day and gave us some distance to pretend we were just working away like we would have been in London. I usually didn’t show up to his flat until it was time for his first tisane anyway, so it was good to have this piece of normalcy. 

He wanted to go to the beach before lunch, and the art gallery afterward. I was to accompany him on both trips. After I’d finished my breakfast I got dressed in my white linen pyjama trousers and matching short-sleeved collared shirt with navy blue trim. I completed my look with a wide straw hat that had a navy blue band and white crochet gloves. I looked and felt absolutely glamorous and summery. I couldn’t wait for Poirot to see me. 

I momentarily lost my train of thought as I was wrapped up in daydreams. I brought myself back to the real world and set off to get things ready for our morning on the beach. I had the concierge loan us 2 chairs, a small table, and an umbrella for us. I brought my pad and pencil, and some books for Monsieur. Once I made sure that they were set up as symmetrically as possible I went to the lobby to wait for Poirot.

As I waited, I looked up and in the ceiling of the rotunda was a relief of mermaids playing in the waves. We really were staying in a mermaid castle. I heard someone clear their throat and was shaken from my reverie. I wheeled around to find Poirot with a stern look on his face.

“Good morning, Monsieur! Everything is ready for you on the beach.”

His stern look melted into one of his patented crinkled up smiles and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Bon! Merci, Mademoiselle.”

With that, he headed for the beach. He was practically glowing in his white linen suit and straw hat, but he had chosen creme and brown accessories instead of navy. He looked wonderfully like melting ice cream. He never failed to look more sharply dressed than any other man around him, even if he wasn’t the most fashionable. Poirot dressed to suit his own tastes and pulled it off spectacularly.

When we reached the beach there was a slight step down that he needed help navigating. He placed his thick fingered hand into my own so I could steady him and the pleasant warmth radiated through my whole body. I couldn’t help but smile. Once his two patent leather shoes were back together on the ground, I let go quickly. Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t want to give people’s tongues something to wag about.

Once he had approved the alignment of the chairs and was settled in with his book, I decided to kick off my shoes, hike up my wide trouser legs, and wade into the sea. I was very careful not to get my pyjamas wet because I knew I was expected to accompany Poirot to the art gallery after lunch. The sea was warm and inviting as it splashed around my ankles and the sand begged to be squished between my toes. The wind threatened to steal my hat from me and I had to hold it on my head to keep it from flying away.

I looked over my shoulder and caught Poirot looking over his book at me and smiling. I was suddenly filled up with happiness. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a long week after all. 

Here we were with the sun shining down on us out of a clear blue sky with the salt wind in our hair and warm water inviting us to be happy. Poirot was smiling at me, and suddenly I was filled with laughter. If it had been anyone else I would have probably pretended to splash them, but he was much too dignified to be splashed.

A small scruffy dog ran down the beach just then and I was so filled up with joy I just ran with him, smiling my fool face off, until the children that had been chasing him caught up with him and scooped him up. I walked back to my beach chair, quite ready for a breather. Poirot had gone back to reading and pretended he hadn’t been watching me at all. 

We went back up to the hotel for lunch and sat on the large patio. I let Poirot order for me again because he had excellent taste and because I probably would have ordered what he did anyway out of a fear of being rude and spending too much money. 

After we finished our lemon sorbet we set off for the art gallery. The walk into town was pleasant. There were several shops close to the hotel that would appeal mainly to tourists like swimwear and souvenir shops. Closer to the center of town the shops became more like what a person would expect to see in any village or small town.

The Gallerie de la Lune was contained in a converted storefront right in between the touristy and towny area. It was bright and welcoming inside and the current exhibition was a mixture of De Stijl inspired works, Cubism inspired works, and realistic seaside landscapes. There were also sculptures dotting the center of the room. Some of the statues were humans, some of them were animals, but all of them were abstracted in some way. 

Poirot milled around the main room of the gallery, stopping occasionally to inspect paintings silently. At first, I followed him around and looked at the paintings with him.

Between two of the paintings, they had hung a carved marble relief depicting Acis after he'd been crushed by Polyphemus. I was struck but it, and I stopped to take it in as Poirot moved ahead.

Galatea was there mourning Acis, grasping at his hand as if she could save his life if only she could pull him out. As I stood and looked at Galatea's anguished face, I felt my own heart breaking. Before I knew what was happening, a tear trickled down my cheek.

I'd always been soft-hearted, but I was ashamed to be crying at a sculpture like this in public. In front of Poirot, no less. I tried to quickly wipe the tear away before he noticed, but I was too late. When I turned to continue around the gallery, he was looking at me with the kindest eyes I had ever seen in a human being.

"Mademoiselle?"

"I am fine Monsieur. It was just an eyelash."

I excused myself to the ladies’ room to collect myself and make sure my makeup hadn't run. I knew very well that Poirot did not like lies, but I couldn’t help but try to cover my shame. I was tired of running around feeling like a silly goose.

On the way back into the gallery I passed the door to what must have been the gallery's storage room, and I heard men arguing. I am ashamed to admit, even here, that I let my curiosity get the better of me and I stood near the door pretending to look for something in my purse so that I could hear what was happening. 

I heard one of the men shouting something about “You put them in the wrong one!” and the other man shouting something about “It’s fine! I’ll get them back!” Then I heard the sounds of a scuffle and what sounded like a fall. Before I could move away from the door a nasty looking man barged out and caught sight of me. He tipped his hat while making the meanest look I’d ever seen another person make and stormed off. I hurried back to Poirot.

When I returned to him, he was engaged with the owner. It seemed that Poirot had bought one of the little statues. It was two polished bronze leaping deer on a base of marble. It was small and light enough that Poirot decided to carry it back to the hotel with him. It was wrapped up in brown paper, and then we began our journey back.

When we had our dinner in the dining room of the hotel that night, I’d mainly forgotten about the nasty man who’d been arguing with someone at the gallery. As usual, Poirot was a charming companion and he ate the excellent food with obvious enjoyment. There was a band playing, though they hadn’t made room for dancers this evening. They had just finished playing “The Very Thought of You” when I saw the awful man from the Gallerie de la Lune yelling at a waiter. Any sappy romantic feelings I’d had during the song were instantly gone.

Poirot followed my gaze and saw the man as well. 

“Such men should stay in their own homes to dine so that they do not disturb the digestion of others.”

“I saw him earlier today, and he was being a bully then, too. I hope that poor waiter is alright.”

“I have often found that men who bully waiters are bullies to everyone. It is a deficit of character. You must pay him no mind. His sails will run out of the wind soon enough, but our dessert will become soggy if we do not eat it quickly!”

He smiled broadly as he took a delicate bite of ile flottante, then closed his eyes as the merengue melted in his mouth. His enjoyment wiped the bully out of my mind, and the rest of the evening went beautifully.


	2. Chapter 2

~WEDNESDAY~

The next morning, I went down early to get the newspaper for Poirot. The desk clerk stopped me on my way back upstairs and said there was a message for me. I asked if he meant it was for Monsieur Poirot and he replied that the gentleman who left it was quite sure to say that it was for me.

I was completely perplexed. What gentleman would be leaving me messages at the hotel’s front desk? I hadn’t spoken to anyone outside of the hotel staff and Poirot. I opened the envelope, sure there was some kind of mistake.

It said:

> Since you’re such a nosey little berk, I suspect you know exactly what kind of man I am.
> 
> Bring yourself and my statue to the shipping pier tonight before midnight. I know your room number so you’d better bring it to me or I’ll come and get it and slit that fat little froggy’s throat while I’m at it.

It was unsigned, but I knew exactly who it was from. First, I was angry. How dare he speak to me like that!? How dare he speak about Poirot like that!? And to say it was  _ his _ statue when it had been bought and paid for by Poirot was just absurd! Then I got scared. He was going to kill Poirot if I didn’t do as he said. He was probably going to kill me if I did do what he said. Curiosity killed the cat, but this time it was aiming for Poirot and I was in the way.

I started to think about why on earth he would want a marble and bronze statue so much that he was willing to kill for it. Then it struck me that the statue probably should have been heavier since it was made of such heavy materials. Was there something hidden in it? I didn’t know, but I did know I couldn’t bring Poirot into this. I wouldn’t let my foolishness bring him into any more danger than it already had. I had to protect him.

I brought the newspaper into Poirot’s room and tried not to let on that anything was bothering me. I shoved the letter into the back of my mind and focused on taking care of the tasks that Poirot set for me. There weren’t many since he was meant to be resting but I was busy enough, and he was in his room enough that I didn’t have a chance to investigate the statue at all during the day. 

That evening Poirot had theatre tickets. We shared an early supper, and then he got ready to go out. I unlocked the door that joined our suites on his side and prayed he wouldn’t notice before I left to go into my room. Since I wouldn’t be going with him I would have plenty of time to investigate the statue after he left and before I had to be at the pier.

After Monsieur said goodbye I waited about half an hour to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. I crept into his room through the now unlocked door and looked the statue over. With some gentle probing, I found that the base was hollow. I gently pulled back the green felt that covered the base and tried to keep it from tearing. As I peered inside the base I found I had been right. There was a velvet pouch secured inside so that it wouldn’t rattle. This was what he was really after. I would take it to him, leave the statue, and Poirot would be safe without ever knowing the danger he had been in.

I didn’t even look inside the pouch. I just waited until it was dark and left. I had no way of knowing what would happen once I got there. I had no idea if this evil man was going to kill me for my trouble. I quickly made my way to the location the letter had indicated, hoping that I would go back to my room after this was done and if Poirot found out it would be after he was well out of harm’s way. 

The shipping pier was sparsely lit and it was hard to find my way at first but once my eyes adjusted to the darkness it became easier. My heart was pounding and the only two thoughts that kept running through my brain were “Run!” and “I have to do this and keep him safe.” I thought about the carved relief of Galatea again. How would I feel if Poirot were killed and it was my fault? I couldn’t even begin to imagine the agony of losing him.

My thoughts were interrupted as I arrived at the place I was meeting the villain. He stepped out of a doorway and beckoned me inside a warehouse. I hesitantly followed after reminding myself it was all for Monsieur’s safety.

“Did you tell your little froggy about this meeting?”

I wanted to speak but my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth with a thick coating of fear. I just shook my head. A moment later I heard the one voice that could both fill me with terror and joy.

“Non, she did not tell her  _ froggy  _ but  _ peut être _ if she had she would not be here.” 

I whirled around to see Poirot dressed for the theatre with his fists and jaw clenched and fire in his eyes. I didn’t know if he was angrier with me or the man that had manipulated me to bring his stolen goods. I did know that if he was here, then I failed to keep him safe. The dam burst and I began to sob.

“Monsieur, no! You were not supposed to be here! You were supposed to be safe!”

The anger in his face barely softened as he spoke to me.

“Ah Mademoiselle, but then who would keep you safe?”

I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t matter, that I didn’t care what happened to me as long as he was okay. The way his eyes flashed made me rethink it. I simply averted my eyes in shame.

“As for you, monsieur, you have used this girl most villainously. Next time, if you want something from Poirot, you should ask him.”

“And what are you gonna do about it, eh? I don’t see a gun or any backup. Are you going to take me yourself old man?”

He was trying to scare off Poirot, but I had the suspicion that Poirot would never be scared away from anything once he’d decided to see it through.

“I do not need to ‘take you.’ The police are on their way. If you are smarter than you appear, then you will leave before they arrive.” 

The man’s face distorted into a hateful scowl.

“Not without my goods!”

“If you wish to escape prison monsieur you will leave without them.”

I was awed at how Poirot was calm and steady against this vicious man who screamed and howled. As he stood there awaiting the man’s decision, he didn’t move- didn’t waver. The villain took only a beat to consider Poirot’s words before he grunted and ran through the door he had propped open. As he rushed through, he knocked the prop aside and the door slammed shut behind him. Only after he was gone did I dare to move from the place I had been planted since Poirot appeared.

I ran to him and threw my arms around him. He was too incredibly brilliant for words and he was safe! He had saved me! I must have started crying again because he had gently wrapped his arms around me and was quietly soothing me.

“Ma pauvre petite. Shh, shh Petite. C’est fini. Tout va bien.”

He led me to a crate and gently directed me to sit.

“Monsieur you were not supposed to be here! You weren’t supposed to know...”

I trailed off, unable to keep thinking about how close I was to losing him.

“How did you know where to find me? How did you know anything was wrong?”

“It is impossible for anyone to lie to Poirot. I could tell you were hiding something from the moment you returned from downstairs this morning.”

I almost laughed. He had been able to read me like a book from that very first morning. 

“Also, you left the letter on the inside of the newspaper in your haste to conceal it.”

I did laugh that time. The whole day I had been sneaking around and trying to hide it all from him, and the whole day he had known. I had been such a fool. I looked up into his eyes and I saw nothing but love and care in them.

“I’ve been so foolish today. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on. I was so busy thinking about the danger to you that I didn’t stop to consider much else. I’m so glad that you came to my rescue, but I’m sorry you had to go to all of this trouble for me.”

“It was only a small amount of trouble, Mademoiselle.”

He smiled so softly and sweetly and it felt like there was so much he wasn’t saying. I wished he would hold me tight and let me bury my face in his lavender-scented shoulder. He drew me up from my makeshift seat and placed my arm through his so that we were standing arm in arm.

“Let us go back to our hotel where we can have a warm drink and a good night’s rest. In the morning we will turn over the stolen items to the police, and then it will all be behind us.”

“That sounds marvelous, Monsieur. Let’s go.”

We walked to the door and Poirot pushed it open, except it didn’t open. He pushed again, but the door would not budge. It seemed there was a reason that it had been propped open and now we were trapped.

“We shouldn’t have to wait too long. Didn’t you say the police were on their way?”

Poirot looked at me sheepishly. He had bluffed his way through the whole thing and hadn’t even batted an eyelash. I couldn’t even be angry with him because I was so awed by him.

“I’m sure someone will be along soon enough. We’ll just have to wait a while.”

I grimaced as I said the last part. Who knew how long we’d have to wait. Poirot looked like I had just told him England had outlawed the import of crème de banane. We went back to the crates to sit down. Poirot unfolded his handkerchief and laid it gingerly across the dirty surface before he sat down carefully.

“I am so sorry, Monsieur. I tried to handle this without bringing you into it, and I’ve failed miserably at it. Now you’re missing out on your evening cocoa and your warm blankets because of me.”

He laid his hand on top of mine. Even through the leather of his gloves, I could feel the warmth of his hand. Coming from him, it felt like an intimate gesture.

“Chèr Madamoiselle, why did you not tell all to Poirot? Why did you try to deceive me?”

A tear trickled down my cheek.

“You saw what that horrid man wrote. He was going to kill you if I didn’t do as he asked. I was terrified that if I brought you in on it, or told anyone, he would keep his promise.”

My mind cruelly conjured up an image of him lying in his bed in a pool of blood. It was suddenly hard to talk around the lump in my throat.

“I-I couldn’t live with myself if anything were to happen to you.”

Here I was again on the edge of confessing every feeling I’d tried to ignore for weeks so that I could focus on my work. “Because I love you. Because I need you in my life,” was the part of the sentence that I was afraid to say. 

How could I not love him? He had risked his life for me tonight with nothing more than a walking stick and his wits in hand. We had spent weeks together at this point and I had come to know how kind and warm he was. I had learned his sense of humor, learned his likes and dislikes. I’d seen his generosity and kindness. I’d seen his dedication to doing what was right, even when it wasn’t exactly lawful. He was fussy and exacting sometimes, but he was a good man beneath it all.

“Madamoiselle you have your little grey cells. Why do you not use them?”

He hadn’t spoken harshly at all. He almost sounded like a father talking to his lost child, which almost hurt more. He must have seen the wounded look on my face because he began to explain himself.

“You have the brain to rival even Poirot if you could slow down to think.  _ Sacré _ ! What if this man killed you, Mademoiselle? Did you not think that your loss would also be a tragedy? That I would be affected by your loss?”

I blinked at him, somewhat stunned. I hadn’t thought about it. Not really. I was so busy worrying about his physical safety that I’d never imagined that possibly losing me would hurt him. I tended to operate under the assumption that he didn’t care for me as much or in the same way that I cared for him. I shook my head stupidly.

“Your absence would be a great tragedy, Mademoiselle.”

He had never been so candid before. Poirot would miss me when I was gone? I was shocked to hear that I meant that much to him. Shocked to hear that his feelings hadn’t changed since that day I’d stupidly kissed him. Had they possibly intensified?

“Oh, Monsieur! I am so sorry to have worried you and caused you pain. You are right. I should have stopped and thought a little longer. I should have realized that if I asked for help we could have solved the problem together. I should never have tried to keep things from you. I was so busy trying to protect your body that I never once stopped to think about your heart. I think- I didn’t realize I was that important to you.”

He lifted my fingers to his lips and kissed them.

“Never again doubt that you are precious to Poirot.”

My heart nearly exploded with happiness and an awed smile bloomed on my face. 

“Never again,” I promised.

The night wore on and any hope that we had of being discovered by a security guard or patrolling policeman quickly faded. My eyes grew heavy and I longed for the beautifully comfortable bed that waited back at The Midland Hotel. I knew this was even harder for Poirot because the whole place was filthy. Every surface had some kind of dirt or dust on it.

He could barely keep his eyes open but he refused to relax any part of himself against the dirty surroundings. After I reminded him that he could wash his hair at the hotel and offered to thoroughly brush his hat and coat for him, he finally removed his hat and leaned his head back against a crate. I decided to lay down on top of the crates we had been sitting on. I decided that they had to be cleaner than the floor at the very least. I folded up my coat to use as a pillow and laid my head down next to Poirot. It wasn’t long until I had fallen asleep.

~THURSDAY~

Very early the next morning, a man with a large ring of keys opened the door and shouted, “Oi what’s this then?”

I woke up first and gently nudged Poirot to wake him up as well.

“You see sir, we’re visitors to Morecambe and we got lost. The door was open so we came in to ask for directions. I accidentally knocked it shut and we got locked in here.”

The man who had to be the foreman eyed me skeptically. I thought for sure he was going to call me on my porky pie, but Poirot spoke before he could.

“Please, monsieur. Could you tell to us where is the  _ hôtel _ ?”

The foreman still looked a little skeptical but Poirot’s foreign accent was enough to convince him that we were actually lost. He took us outside and gruffly pointed the way back to the hotel. Poirot laid it on thick and shook his hand wildly in gratitude.

“Oh merci! You are so kind as to help a weary traveler! Merci beaucoup!”

Poirot’s act had the man smiling and soon he’d completely forgotten all about catching two idiots inside of his warehouse where they shouldn’t have been. As we walked away Poirot winked mischievously at me.

When we arrived back at the hotel I brushed the dirt from Poirot’s hat and coat while he showered. Once I was done, I went back over them again. His eye was much better than mine at finding even the smallest speck of dirt and I knew he would never be satisfied until his belongings looked like new again. 

When I was done I went to bed. Neither of us had slept very much or very well on those hard, dirty crates, so we decided to sleep until lunchtime. I changed into my nightgown and practically fell into bed. As I settled in to sleep, it was like settling into a warm, fluffy cloud. I was asleep in no time. I vaguely remember dreaming of a white horse and being carried off by a prince.

I woke up sometime later to the sound of someone knocking on my door. Bleary-eyed, I grabbed my dressing gown and shouted for whoever it was to wait just a minute, please. I opened the door, still somewhat asleep, to Poirot looking as fresh as morning dew. 

I felt my face flush with heat as I smoothed down my surely wild hair. He didn’t seem to notice that I looked like a wild child fresh from the forest. He let me know that he’d ordered lunch and that a police inspector would be joining us to talk about the events of the night before. So much had happened last night that I’d nearly forgotten what had started it all in the first place.

I quickly got dressed and tried to do something with my hair. I carried an extra chair to Poirot’s terrace where we would be having lunch with the local police inspector. I took the velvet bag out of my pocket where I’d placed it and turned to give it to Poirot. 

“Mademoiselle, your hair is out of place. Permettez-moi.”

His hand softly brushed my cheek as he gently tucked an errant curl behind my ear. I was transported back to that first day when he had done the same thing. His hand was exactly as warm and gentle as it had been before. I still felt the same electricity. 

I had resisted the urge, then, to lean into his touch. This time I didn’t fight back and reached up to hold his lingering hand. Neither of us moved. I felt like I was hardly breathing. Time was standing still and we were the only two people in the world. What was going to come next? Behind his eyes I could almost see the little grey cells firing away, deciding what he should do. 

Then there was a knock on the door.

We both straightened immediately and tried to look as if there had been absolutely nothing going on. Poirot answered the door and showed in the waiter who was standing outside with our lunch on a wheeled cart. The intimate moment was gone.

I turned out to face the sea and let the cool wind envelop me. We were circling around each other like the Moon around the Earth; ever in motion but never touching and never stopping, lest disaster strike.

Shortly after the waiter left the police inspector arrived for lunch. I showed him to the terrace where Poirot was already seated with the velvet bag on the table in front of him. He stood up to shake the inspector’s hand and bowed slightly.

“Welcome Inspector. I am Hercule Poirot and this is my secretary most excellent. She is the one who discovered the stolen items.”

I shook the inspector’s hand and he introduced himself.

“Inspector John Raulf. Have you looked inside the bag or touched anything inside of it?”

I shook my head.

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

Inspector Raulf reminded me of Inspector Japp, but younger. He already had that harried look Japp seemed to always have, and they had similar dress sensibilities. I didn’t know how much Poirot had told Inspector Raulf and I didn’t want to give any details he didn’t already have about how we came to have them.

Poirot gestured for us to sit and once we were settled he handed the bag to Inspector Raulf.

“Your employer gave me a description of the man who contacted you. I believe he is the thief who is responsible for a string of jewel thefts up and down the Lancaster coast. I brought along his photograph for you to identify.”

He dug the photograph out of his pocket and showed it to me. It was him. It was the villainous man who had threatened to slit Poirot’s throat and called him that awful name.

“Yes, that’s the man, Inspector.”

“Ah, that’s Tom Irvine. So that’s probably the missing diamonds we’ve been looking for. Where did you find them?”

“They were in the base of the statue that Monsieur Poirot bought at La Gallerie de la Lune. I overheard him arguing with another man in the storage room about having put something in the wrong statue.”

“Oh, so that’s how they’re moving the stolen goods. Did you happen to hear the other man’s name?

“No, sir. I’m sorry. It did sound like Mr. Irvine pushed him or punched him, though. He may be wounded.”

“I see. Well, in any case, you’ve been a great help to us miss and you can be sure that we will catch Tom and his accomplice.”

“Thank you, Inspector. That is very reassuring.”

Lunch was short and simple, but delicious. Poirot had ordered a watercress salad layered with potatoes, parsley, and tomatoes all topped with a lovely lemony vinaigrette and breast of chicken. We made polite conversation with Inspector Raulf while we ate and had an enjoyable lunch. 

Before he stood up to leave the inspector asked us if we’d like to see what was inside the pouch. We said we’d like to very much so he opened the drawstring for us and let us peer inside. Against the black velvet were about 20 diamonds the size of my pinky nail glittering like stars.

After Inspector Raulf left with the diamonds Poirot turned to me with a twinkle in his eye.

“It is most fortunate for the police that you and I did not decide to go into crime.”

I laughed. It really was fortunate. If he and I had decided to take those diamonds for ourselves we’d be long gone and no one would have ever known. Poirot’s expression turned serious.

“Mademoiselle, I must apologize for earlier-”

I cut him off before he could say anything more.

“There is nothing to apologize for, Monsieur.”

I wondered, not for the first time, how someone so brilliant could be so absolutely thick.

That evening we went for a walk along the pier. We shared a cone of candy floss as we walked along among the crowds of families, the barkers enticing people to their amusements, the dancing electric lights, and the aromas of what must have been chip shops and restaurants. 

When we reached the end of the pier the sun was beginning to sink low and had turned the sky and the sea a fiery orange. There, in what felt like the very middle of the ocean, every part of me wanted to reach out for him, to take his hand and walk together with him like so many couples on the pier were doing. In the end, I didn’t.

As we walked back the sun slowly disappeared and the pier’s real light show began. Every inch of it had been covered in tiny electric bulbs so that it shone out into the sea, leaving trails of glitter in the moonlit water.

I almost felt sad leaving the pier. It was like leaving behind a place of magical possibilities. I had never seen Poirot look more beautiful than when he was bathed in the soft yellowy glow of those thousands of tiny bulbs.

~FRIDAY~

We were headed back to London tomorrow morning, so today was the last day to enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine. Since our little adventure was over, that’s exactly what we intended to do. After breakfast, we once again ventured forth to the beach. Once again I ensured that the table, umbrella, and chairs were set up to Poirot’s specifications. Our only other engagement that day was the dinner dance, so Poirot encouraged me to bathe if I wanted to. He had brought along a small stack of books to occupy himself. 

I loved my new navy blue halter top maillot with white diamonds circling the top and white straps. The stark contrast between the diamonds and the dark color of the suit gave it a wonderful illusion of different shapes joined together to make a pattern. The matching cover-up provided me with the necessary modesty to make it from my room to the beach but still look fashionable.

As I swam, Poirot lounged in the shade of the umbrella reading. He definitely stood out in his white silk suit and gold striped, red bow tie that matched the rosebud pinned to his jacket. Most of the other men on the beach were wearing shorts. I couldn’t even imagine what Poirot would look like in stocking feet let alone imagine him in shorts.

I had donned a bathing cap in an attempt to keep my hair dry. If I had to wash the salt out of it, I would never be able to set it again in time for dinner. Not to mention the very unglamorous prospect of wearing a headscarf and a head full of pins in front of Poirot. I couldn’t bear the indignity, so I did my best to keep my head away from the water as I waded in.

The water was warm and inviting. I heard some children shout that they’d found a starfish on the jetty as they ran past with the poor creature. Some ladies were laying out on the sand and trying to get tanned. Down the beach, someone had sent up some colorful kites that were bobbing and dancing playfully on the sea breeze. Everywhere along the beach there were people running and splashing, playing and laughing.

I finally drug myself out of the water to sit out in the sun and dry off before lunch. Poirot had sat reading the whole time. He had nearly finished the first book he’d brought with him. While I had been out in the water he’d asked a waiter to bring down cold drinks.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Monsieur?”

“Yes, very much. I have a companion most agréable, a beautiful view, an interesting book, and a refreshing drink. There is not much more a person could ask for  _ n’est-ce pas _ ?”

“No, I suppose not.”

I looked back out to the water. He was right. I would be hard-pressed to find anything better than a seaside vacation, especially one with him. If we hadn’t somehow gotten mixed up in a jewel robbery, this would have probably been a perfect week. Even with the jewel robbery, it was very close.

That night I dressed for dinner in the dress I’d worn on the night Poirot and I first had dinner together. For some reason, tonight seemed important. It wasn’t the famous actors and musicians who were said to frequent the Midland Hotel on Friday nights, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it actually was. I double-checked to make sure that every curl was pinned in place, my makeup was still intact, and that my stockings were straight. Poirot always noticed when things were even one millimeter out of place and I wanted to be resplendent on his arm.

He knocked on my door, and I took a deep breath before I walked over and answered it.

“Vous êtes magnifique, Mademoiselle.”

A girl would never need rouge with Poirot around to compliment her.

“Merci, Monsieur.”

He held out his arm for me to take it, which I gladly did. As we entered the dining room, I felt like all eyes were on us and I felt a sort of pride. As far as I was concerned, I was there on the arm of the best gentleman to be found in the entire county.

Everything lived up to expectations. The food was excellent, the band was great. There were couples everywhere on the dance floor. Everyone seemed to want to dance. Everyone except Poirot.

He sat smoking his tiny black, Russian cigarettes after dinner. I had to admit there was something about the way he looked blowing smoke and watching the dancers that made my heart beat just a little bit faster. He glanced over at me and caught me watching him.

“Would you care to take a walk with me, Mademoiselle?”

“I would love to.”

I smiled and stood to go with him. I wanted to be on the dance floor with his arms around me, but maybe it was better if we didn’t. I did lose myself in the moment last time.

Outside was quiet, and cold compared to inside. We could still hear the orchestra playing as we walked. Gooseflesh prickled on my arms when the breeze hit my skin.

“The dance floor was very crowded tonight. I wonder if it’s always like that?”

“Oui, it was very crowded inside. The Friday dance has attracted many people who wish to see the celebrities.”

“Monsieur?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle?”

“Thank you. For bringing me along.”

“Thank you for coming along. I fear my  _ vacances _ would have been very dull without you.”

My face flushed with embarrassment.

“I really am sorry. I should have known I could trust you to know what to do.”

“I do not always know what to do, Mademoiselle.”

“Maybe not, but you have your little grey cells to help you.”

We walked in silence for a few steps before the orchestra started playing a nice slow version of “Isn’t It Romantic.”

“Mademoiselle?”

“Oui, Monsieur?”

“Would you care to dance?”

“I’d love to.”

We danced there under the moon with the sound of the orchestra competing with the sound of the waves. When the song was over, he walked me back to my door.

“Thank you for a lovely evening. I’ll remember it for a long time.”

I smiled softly, a bit sad that the evening was over.

“The pleasure was all mine.”

He took my hand gently and kissed it, then he let go and stepped the two steps to his own door. 

“Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle."

"Bonne nuit, Monsieur."

Once I was inside my room, I stood there unsure of how to proceed. I wished, just this once, that the great Hercule Poirot would just be a cad.

How did that song go? "You're getting to be a habit to me?" That was Poirot for me. Every touch of his hand, every touch of his lips made me want more. I was standing there facing the bolted door between our rooms, more than half wishing he would throw it open and take me in his arms. Being precious to him wasn’t always enough. I loved him, and I would stay with him as long as he wanted and needed me, but it was exquisite torture.

~SATURDAY~

I woke up early to make sure I was packed before we left the hotel. Seeing Poirot back in his brown traveling suit was a sad reminder that we would be back to business as usual soon enough. I dreaded the day Miss Lemon was able to return home and re-take her post.

After breakfast, a porter helped us to load our luggage into the car that would take us to the station. Before I knew it we were back at King’s Cross station. It’s funny how time flies when you only want it to slow down.

Poirot escorted me back home, where he insisted on helping me with my case. When we reached the door he set my case down gingerly, took my hatbox, and set it down next to my case. They were a barrier between us, almost like he was afraid to get too close. He reached out for my hand. Maybe he felt safer because we were both wearing gloves.

“Goodbye, Mademoiselle. I will see you on Monday morning?”

“Yes, of course, Monsieur. There’s no place I’d rather be.”

After a moment, be bowed and left. I watched his taxi go until it turned the corner and I couldn’t see it anymore. I felt like I was seeing him for the last time. I drug myself and my cases inside before I started blubbering on the doorstep.

~SUNDAY~

I received a package in the evening post. I wasn’t expecting anything so I was very surprised. It was much heavier than I would have guessed by its size. I looked to see who it was from and I recognized the neat handwriting on the outside immediately. I practically tore it open. What would he have sent me that he couldn’t give me tomorrow? What could it be that was so heavy? I opened the box and gasped. It was the statue of the leaping deer. 

I searched for the note and found it. My excitement soon faded as I started reading.

> Chèr Mademoiselle,
> 
> When I arrived home, there was a telegram waiting from the good Miss Lemon. It seems her sister has recovered and she will return to work on Monday. 
> 
> I have sent you the statue to remind you of our seaside adventure, and so that you do not forget Poirot. 
> 
> If you have not forgotten me by the end of the week, I hope you will join me for dinner on Saturday evening.
> 
> As Always,
> 
> Hercule Poirot

How could I ever forget that beautiful, beautiful man? I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be returning to work for him, but the prospect of dinner did help to soften the blow. I wrote back to accept his invitation immediately. 

As I was placing the statue in its new home a wild idea came into my head. I decided to peel back the felt on the bottom and look inside the base. I didn’t really expect to find anything, but why not look anyway? I peered inside and found a single red rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience and your kindness! I appreciate everyone's comments and kudos so much! I hope you enjoyed the exciting conclusion 🤭

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's block is not kind. Thank you all for waiting so patiently! The next chapter is already almost finished so it should be out in a few days. I hope you enjoy it!


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